Robinson's
by nationalemergency
Summary: Some people can be really strange...
1. Chapter 1

Hello again. Here's my latest Avenger's fic. Wasn't really sure about this one so I'm taking a bit of a leap of faith by posting it. I hope it's not too bad. Obviously, I do not own Avengers or any of the characters.

Notes: Some mild slash.

Tony hadn't even meant to start drinking at Robinson's, it had just happened. It wasn't even that good a bar, or at least not by his usual standards.

Originally it had just been another smoky, low-ceilinged dive close to the docks, the kind that's full of people trying to fence something or other, but about a year before Tony started visiting it began branched out into some rather more interesting clientele.

First, the bar had become a favourite with the local police when their shifts finished and the occasional petty criminal, neither really minded that they were sharing; everyone was off duty for the time being so they just wanted some space to get some serious drinking done. Then the police officers brought their superiors with them (probably against their will) and the criminals brought their associates and so on and so forth until Robinson's was internationally famous and almost completely off limits to the general populace as the only place in the world where you could be punched in the face by Dr. Doom and one of the X-Men _at the same time. _

Any regular human who wandered into the bar now had, as some people put it, a snowball's chance in hell.

When you have that kind of reputation who needs advertising?

Of course the bar's new-found claim to fame and burgeoning number of regular customers meant they had upgraded slightly and the apparent owner of the bar never showed up at all, this was because he had moved to a large house somewhere sunny and a long, long way away. Apparently even super villains pay their tabs eventually.

Tony had been introduced to the bar recently by Deadpool who had most likely found the place as a last resort after being banned from just about every other bar in the city. Wade always ordered some tall, violently coloured cocktail that had sugar frosting round the rim and found some way to be even more annoying than usual while drunk. Tony had considered telling this to someone, but he knew no one would believe him.

To be honest he was found it strange that he was no longer definitely the smartest, richest and most dangerous person in the bar. He always ended up assuring himself that he was all of these things, definitely the smartest anyway but it fell flat as the (probably) people standing by the wall opposite him were holding perfectly amiable conversations while each carrying enough explosives to take out a good portion of the city.

Tony decided it was best he didn't ask and carried on as usual. For the last couple of minutes he had been eyeing up a tall, purple-haired woman on the other side of the bar, trying to remember if she had been on SHIELD's most wanted list recently.

He had been examining the other drinkers quite closely for quite a while so it was quite surprising that he hadn't noticed the man on his left. Even with Robinson's regulars standing around him this one stood out a little, this was quite a feat as he was surrounded by superheroes, many of whom dress like mad parrots covered in latex (or in some of the really worrying cases, sequins) and super villains (who can be even worse). In fact he may have been the most normally dressed person there, seconded only by Tony in his freakishly expensive suit and cufflinks.

Admittedly the blue skin probably helped since it was a real azure blue, smooth and matte and a color not normally found in nature unless something has gone really wrong. The red eyes, which were devoid of a pupil or white and reflected light oddly were pretty distinctive too. Another thing that probably added to the effect was the long hair, a shoulder length glossy black, but the crowning glory had to be the tattoos, which ran in winding, sinuous patterns over the long limbs and neck before curling into the dark hairline. They shifted lithely with the man's body and looked vaguely Celtic in design.

In fact Tony spent so long staring at the figure that he only noticed who it was when they turned around and stared back.

After a few seconds Tony managed to get out a shocked:

"Loki?"

In return he just got a smirk.

"Did your mother never tell you that it was rude to stare?"

Tony bridled and prepared to say something extremely memorable when the god turned away and, ignoring him completely, spoke to the bartender.

"The usual, Dick, and a… Scotch on the rocks for Mr. Stark, please."

The unfortunate Dick (whose nametag actually read Richard) turned away and quickly passed on a tumbler of Scotch to Tony before heading through to the back.

Tony sipped the drink.

" It's good." Not the best, but pretty good.

"Aged."

"Expensive?"

"Yes."

"Then thank you." It was a good choice for an alien.

Loki smirked again and leaned back against the bar,

"Mr. Stark, if you think I'm paying then you are sadly mistaken."

Tony snorted,

"Cheap."

"Not a billionaire."

This was even more firmly cementing Tony's theory that Loki and Thor were meant to work as a team because while the god wasn't the hardest hitter he was pretty damn quick to adapt. When combined with Thor it was pretty obvious he was the brains of the outfit.

They were silent again, except for the hum of chatter in the background, then for the second time that evening Tony had to do a double take. Dick the bartender had reappeared with what was apparently Loki's drink. The fact that the man was carrying it with steel tongs and the container read: WARNING HAZADROUS didn't seem to put Loki off, neither did the fact that there were large billows of what looked like white smoke pouring off the top of the container. The bartender placed the drink down on the bar in front of Loki and then retreated to what might have been a safe distance.

"Again, with the staring Stark?"

"What is that?" It looked pretty familiar.

Loki edged the container across to show him the thick, powder blue liquid inside, as the liquid sloshed the bartender twitched visibly.

"Liquid oxygen."

Now Tony began to twitch,

"The kind that explodes if it touches organic material?"

"The very same. Well, almost anything organic, it seems." He smiled at Tony, or at least it looked like a smile, it showed a lot of quite sharp-looking teeth.

Loki sipped the drink calmly, thankfully nothing exploded. He then gave Tony a very pointed look.

"Jotun."

"A what?"

"I'm an ice giant, moron."

"You," Tony looked him up and down, and maybe did it again, just to be extra thorough, "are not a giant."

Loki smiled the toothy smile again. "Oh, but I am Mr. Stark, ask my brother. I'm just a rather small one."

Tony felt like the conversation was moving into dangerous territory and tried to redirect it.

"You order that every time?" He nodded at the still smoking glass on the bar.

"Of course."

"You sure the bartenders nerves can take it?"

Loki drank a little more; the fumes began to climb over the sides of the container and swirled along the bar where they hovered in low, dense clouds.

"Not my problem."

With that the god wrapped a long, blue hand around his drink and wandered over to a nearby table, which was occupied only by a tired looking young man in a tight black suit and an elderly man in an ostentatious red helmet. Neither seemed to mind, the young man just stared off into space without moving and the elderly man was holding an intense glaring match with another old man on the other side of the room.

The bartender interrupted Tony's train of thought by sliding two pieces of paper towards him, the first was the bill for what looked like an entire night's worth of drink (if you were thirty people), the second had a series of digits written on it in elegant, cursive handwriting.

When Tony looked up the bartender was still grinning at him, in fact the guy was kind of unnerving in general. He had to wonder what kind of maniac worked as a bartender in a bar like this.

Mr. Stark,

02668457325

So we can see each other again soon.

OK, if you liked it and think it is worth continuing please let me know! If you didn't like it… let me know anyway. If you have any suggestions or ideas for how this fic could pan out please leave me a review or PM me.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm so sorry this took so long, I had a nasty attack of exams in and out of school.

However I would like to say thank you to any one who favourited, reviewed or added me to their alert list. This is the first story I've ever gotten feedback on so to get so much positive feedback was wonderful. You guys made my week.

Mr. Stark,

02668457325

So we can see each other again soon.

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The phone in Tony's hand began to sound out the dial tone as he drummed his fingers on his workshop bench. It was sleek and expensive looking, like most things he owned and was more powerful than most of the supercomputers in the country. He had designed it himself when he was fourteen. It was marred only by several long scratches down the back from where it had been left in a draw for several years and (originally) inferior service, but then Tony got his own broadband company so that issue was sorted out pretty quickly. The ringing stopped abruptly. Tony raised it to his ear and said,

"Hello?"

He was answered by a terminally cheerful, computerized voice,

"Thank you for agreeing to be enrolled in our call list, we will call you regularly with new offers for you to-"

Tony clicked off as fast as he could, cursing as he did. So far many people had tried to get Tony Stark's number, ex-girlfriends, other businessmen and women, occasionally super villains. For years they had tried and failed and now he was on the list for one of those damned call centres…

He glared at the digits on the scrap of paper in his hand,

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Do I have any appointments?"

"Sir, you have a meeting at two o'clock with-"

"Cancel them, I'm going out for a drink."

'At two o'clock in the afternoon, sir?"

"Absolutely."

Loki was lounging in the same spot at the bar as the night before, this time with his more normal colouring and swirling a rather less explosive drink around the bottom of his glass.

Tony sat down heavily on the stool next to Loki,

"I think you gave me the wrong number."

He slid the scrap of paper across the bar towards the god, for a moment Loki looked surprised and then humour quirked his mouth and he pushed the number back across the table to Tony.

"Actually I think I gave you the right number for the situation, I haven't survived this long by handing out my contact details to my enemies."

"That stings."

"Really? Stings? Then I'm not trying hard enough."

The god had turned to face him now and was no longer smiling, not even the toothy one.

"Well," Tony turned his face away from Loki's glare "I really would have liked your real number."

"S.H.I.E.L.D would have appreciated it as well I imagine." Loki was using harsher tones now.

"If someone was inclined to give it to them."

"One of their employees, for example?" Mocking now.

"They don't employ me.'

'Of course not, they're not paying you. Does that constitute as slave labour?"

"You know full well that's not legal here."

"But I've been to places where it is."

Tony shut up then, abruptly.

"Extended visits?"

"Extended by far too much." Loki wouldn't look at him now.

"Ah."

Tony sat in silence for a while and sipped the drink he had temporarily forgotten about, he locked eyes with the barman who was watching them calmly from a distance. He wasn't exactly sure how to follow something like that up.

Tony turned back to Loki.

"So whose number did you give me?" He said, trying to appease the man next to him.

"You'll be receiving a lot of messages about double glazing over the next couple of months."

Tony groaned theatrically and swore he saw Loki smile just a little.

Unnoticed by those around them an impossible event occurred, both Tony Stark and Loki were speechless, some might have called this a miracle but in this case it was just awkward.

"Don't worry about it too much," came the voice of the bartender from over Tony's shoulder "he likes testing people." Loki glared at the bartender who didn't even flinch, something Tony found very impressive.

Loki pulled out a new piece of paper, seemingly from thin air, and wrote out a new note which he passed towards Tony:

Mr. Stark,

Call 02668457325 then press 7.

6:30 PM tomorrow, so we can see each other again.

Loki

By the time he looked up Loki had left, he hadn't even heard him move. The barman was smirking as he handed Tony the receipt for what looked like Loki's drinks as well. Again.

It was quite a while later that Tony managed to find time to reread the note; he had been busy avoiding Pepper (who wasn't exactly thrilled that he had ditched all his appointments to go drinking) and ignoring some really important paper work. Again he called the number and got the same robotic female voice telling him about the fantastic new prices they had available. Halfway through the message he pressed 7.

The message was interrupted almost immediately by a different recording, the new message said:

"Your number has now been deleted from our system."

The strange thing was that it was Loki's voice he heard, not the robotic, cheerful one.

Okay, that was just plain weird.

If you liked it please let me know, if you didn't feel free to let me know anyway. Again, if you have any ideas as to how you would like this to turn out let me know, those comments I found particularly useful last time. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Tony briefly considered trying to find out Loki's real number, but from the god's general demeanor and comments about his personal privacy it seemed unlikely he was going to find any Old Norse Trickster Gods in the phone book. Instead he just went to his office, which probably made his secretaries almost keel over from shock, and got on with industriously ignoring some important paper work, which was mounting up on his desk at a worrying rate. He made a few airplanes, then reconfigured the design until he was happy with the result. He began to wonder over why he was making such a big thing about the fake phone number of a _male super villain _and piles of paper, when Tony was younger paper work hadn't really existed in his universe and if it did, it was something that happened to other people, he was always too busy actually inventing something. Loki hadn't existed either to a twenty-year old Tony; he was just a character in stories and legends and a few chapters in books on religion that he never read. After this, Tony resolved to permanently delegate all paper work to someone else and to stop visiting weird bars to see insane, homicidal pagan deities.

The next day, after Tony had been waiting for almost an hour at a table by the door in Robinson's, that certain pagan deity finally showed up, to Tony's surprise, in a large group. Judging by the way the volume in the bar went down when the group walked in Tony was willing to guess that these weren't friends of Loki's, or anybody for that matter. He recognised a couple of them and knew that they would have killed or eaten their friends if they ever had any. Tony didn't know most of them, or if he did it was because he'd seen them around, on 'Most Wanted' lists or plastered on to the front page of a newspaper for killing a lot of people very quickly and in a particularly unpleasant way. Sometimes it was for money; sometimes it was because it had been a bad day, sometimes with these people it was hard to tell.

One of the few he (unfortunately) did recognize was the man clanking along behind Loki in a huge suit of armour that somehow managed to give him several inches on the already tall Trickster. Victor von Doom was out with Loki and, from what Tony could see, was walking far too closely to the God for Tony's personal preference, Tony scowled and tried to imagine Thor's reaction to the two of them together, it would probably be unimaginable. In fact he tried to remember Thor talking about Loki with someone else in a positive way at all, Tony was starting to believe that young-Thor must have had some serious jealousy issues. As Tony watched Doom stepped forward until he was definitely too close to Loki, which for some reason made Tony hate the arrogant bastard just a little bit more. Yet somehow the world seemed to carry on regardless of super villains in really stupid masks getting friendly with Loki, it got later and the bar got busier and Tony's corner got more and more boring until he went home, got drunk, was snappy with Jarvis and clambered into bed to sulk.

That night Tony was dozing fitfully in his bed and briefly wondered why Doom had to pick Loki, of all people, to try and feel up in public.

The bit where Loki had threatened to castrate him had been quite funny though.

Namor definitely agreed with him on that one, he'd never seen a super villain laugh so much.

There were a lot of empty glasses on the table though by that point.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day Tony woke up at some ungodly hour of the early afternoon and rolled out of bed as slowly as humanly possible, which turned out to be pretty damned slowly. There were no calls from Pepper, there were no calls from SHIELD, a fact that Jarvis told him in a voice that sounded louder than usual. Tony winced, he already had a hangover and he swore that his suddenly booming AI had somehow altered his volume controls again.

The lack of messages from SHIELD was nor surprise, there were very few of those, nothing seemed to happen that required group action and God forbid that Tony actually fly out without adult supervision so most of the time he was at a loose end and the suit was gathering dust, hence the bar time.

On that day Tony didn't bother going to Robinson's at all.

The day after that Bruce came round and they had to work on a commission for SHIELD, manufacturing some sort of weapons technology, anti-personnel weaponry for on-the-ground agents to use on flying targets. Tony didn't even leave the lab on that day, he was too busy.

On the third day Tony stayed in and watched the news, which was unusual for him, things picked up pretty quickly though because the Fantastic Four were having a battle with Dr Doom near Central Park. Though he had offered they had said they could handle it by themselves. They did too; Dr Doom never seemed to put up that good a fight. He watched the news live feed on the big screen in his living room and watched the man ineffectively order Doombots around before disappearing when they were all destroyed.

The highlight was probably Reed Richards tripping over his own super-long, bendy legs on national television, but Doom's face when he lost came a close second.


	5. Chapter 5

Loki tapped his fingers in an impatient rhythm against the solid oak of the bar; he threw a weak glare at the passing barman before swivelling to face the open doors. He raised his glass to his lips and sipped slowly as he watched the doorway, keeping a sharp eye out for green cloaks and bulky metal armour as well as suits and perpetually messy hair. So far there were no signs of the insufferable villain, probably too busy sulking and trying to patch up the remains of his pathetic army than to come out to bother Loki. He had been waiting there for a while now; he had arrived at the bar not long after seeing Victor humiliated on the news along with that Reed Richards man. While Loki did not have his brother's appreciation for slapstick humour he had found their antics quite amusing, especially since Doom's defeat had looked particularly crushing. Loki hoped this loss might deflate the man's ego slightly, especially since Loki did not enjoy the unwanted attention the man was giving him, he was a mortal after all, sorcerer or no. Presumptuous too, Loki thought, to style himself a sorcerer, at least Stark had the good grace to be interesting as well as arrogant.

The doors clicked open, disrupting Loki's train of thought and the God turned back around to watch Stark enter, scruffy as ever, and throw himself down into a chair next to Loki. The man looked at him appraisingly before asking the barman for his usual, he then turned back to Loki and looked him in the eye with a mocking expression on his face.

"Your boy-toy not here this time?"

Loki tried to quell his rising anger at the man's expression, wondering how Stark dare refer to Doom as Loki's 'boy-toy' or whatever the phrase was. Stark seemed to carry on, not bothered by his angry silence.

"You don't aspire to much in a man, do you? I imagine he has wounds to lick."

Loki ground his teeth slightly, clenching his hands into fists against the bar, the solid wood now felt flimsy beneath his blue-toned hands and felt like it was in danger of buckling under the increasing pressure. The wood groaned from the strain as an exaggerated leer spread its way across Stark's face.

"Shouldn't you be helping him with that?"

The God barely restrained himself from finding a window to throw Stark out of; the bar had been extended upwards to four storeys, which might be enough. Instead he stood up and, with all the grace he could muster, stormed out of the bar, shutting the door firmly behind him. He stepped out onto the pavement and walked off in a random direction, looking for somewhere to fume quietly for a while. His back stiffened as he heard quick footsteps follow him up the quiet street, he turned to face the stupid mortal behind him.

"Stark, if you don't stop following me I _will_ hurt you and no, for your information I should not be with Doom."

The brown haired man slowed and came to a stop in front of Loki before and squared off to him, grinning.

Loki's next sentence was barely more than a snarl.

"Stark, why would you believe that I would in any way want to be… involved with a pathetic, weak creature like Doom?"

That was a question Stark didn't answer, Loki watched the mortal try and form some words to spit back, but too late, Loki had already moved in to finish this.

"Anyway, when did your mind become so enthralled with unravelling the secrets of my love life instead of finding a way to imprison me?"

Stark definitely had no answer for that one, Loki smirked triumphantly.

"Loki!"

The silence was broken by the harsh voice of Doom and a stubby, metal hand which clamped around Loki's shoulder, the God batted off the hand easily and turned to glare at the other super villain who seemed determined to continue his angry tirade whether anyone was actually listening or not. Nothing changes, Tony thought.

"No one abandons Doom mid-battle Loki, no one."

Loki's temper rose almost to boiling point.

"Victor," he said, icicles practically dripping off his words, " we never agreed that I would come to your aid in battles with Richards and his cohorts."

"You have proved yourself a traitor Loki," Doom continued, "further proving your already well known inferiority, I…"

Doom was derailed sharply when Stark cut in.

" Excuse me, but who died and made you the poster boy for unwavering loyalty? Because I'm pretty sure that Cap still has the monopoly on that one."

Doom and Loki glared at him at exactly the same time and, Tony had to admit, it was pretty damn frightening.

"Why is he here, Loki?" Doom's voice was considerably less grating at this new, quieter pitch.

"I would not know, Victor." Loki replied in what was pretty much the same voice. Tony wondered if this was how all super villains communicated; in quiet, menacing whispers.

Doom stared at Loki and for a moment Tony thought he was about to hit him (something he almost wanted to happen, the chances that Doom would get the hand back were pretty low), but he didn't, he just turned slowly and marching off into the gloom.

He realised that Loki was still speaking in that calm, low-pitched voice.

"Stark, try not to do anything unwise."

There was almost palpable emotion in that sentence, Tony though, but what it was he couldn't tell.

Loki walked off and Tony didn't really feel like following him.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I definitely do not own any of the canon, nor am I affiliated with anyone who does.

A/N: Thanks so much to anybody who has liked, favourited, or commented on this story.

Loki pulled the black wool of his coat a little tighter across his shoulders against the biting wind, in truth the cold never really bothered him whether he appeared as a Jotun or not, but it didn't hurt to keep up appearances, even when he was with Thor. He angled his head to the side and spoke in a quiet tone to the man next to him whose presence was already drawing the attention of the more observant passers by. _Of course he was_, Loki thought, _Thor was always very bold and brash and loud, even when he was supposed to be inconspicuous_. Originally Loki had found it irritating, but now he knew that Thor was just incredibly easy to read, whether he wanted to appear that way or not. And of course Loki could use that to his advantage.

"Why would you believe something like that?" He asked the curious man, turning back to face him.

"What else could I think, brother?" Thor smiled. "There is only one occasion when I will see you this distracted. Tell me, who is it?"

Loki snorted derisively and slid further down the park bench, uncrossing his legs and folding his arms tightly in front of him. He looked up at his brother in mock disapproval.

"Oh, come now, brother," Thor reprimanded. "You know there are many who find you pleasing. And you are capable of being quite charming and witty when the mood takes you." This only earned him another snort.

"The one I am so distracted by, Thor, is as likely to think of me as a suitable partner as you are. Maybe less so, since you at least abide by the concept of monogamy."

"Oh, surely it is not that bad, brother."

Loki laughed softly and jabbed Thor in the side, which had no actual effect on him.

"As always I am amazed by your unfailing optimism in regards to myself, but no. It is not going to happen."

"Loki…" Thor's tone had turned pleading now and Loki already knew what he was about to ask.

"No, Thor. I am not going to tell you who it is."

"Give me a hint, Loki. I am no good at your mind games."

Loki smiled a little more; his brother could still be so juvenile. "Very well, Thor. They are handsome."

"I expected no less from you."

"But they are also intelligent."

"You never liked those you found tiresome."

"You are the only known exception, but this person is very resourceful and inventive."

"A little like yourself, Loki."

"I never claimed not to be a narcissist."

"What else, little brother?" Thor was focused solely on Loki now.

"Nothing, your three clues are done." Loki was grinning now, teasing Thor always made him feel better.

Thor groaned again and they watched people walk past their bench for a few minutes in silence. Thor's brow wrinkled in concentration.

"Is it Baldur?"

Loki laughed again, "Good guess, but no. The person, to give you another clue, is one who I met once I arrived here, not in Asgard or in any of the other Realms."

Thor considered this new information carefully. "Is it the Captain?"

Loki looked surprised, "No, Thor, it most definitely is not the Captain, remember what I said about this person's romantic life? They are hardly as restrained as you friend."

Thor mulled over a few names in his head for a while.

"I have only one guess left?"

"Yes."

"Then I will save it for another time, when I think I know for sure."

Loki considered Thor's answer carefully, for some reason he no longer felt like they were joking. He nodded an affirmative to the blond man sat beside him.

Loki stood up and walked back to his flat after exchanging only a short goodbye with his brother. Despite his best attempts he felt a little disappointed the whole of his way home. The second time around he thought it was really quite obvious, but apparently not obvious enough for Thor to pick up on. He had considered for a moment that Thor was playing games with him, but no, his brother was not capable of that. Either Thor was becoming more and more obtuse or Loki was becoming subtler with age.

Loki returned to his spotless New York high-rise flat, a brand new construction that had completely baffled the owners and other tenants of the building, in fact some of them still swore that before that Mr. Laufeyson moved in upstairs there hadn't actually been a fourteenth floor, despite Loki having taken the time to show them the architect's plans, because honestly, it's not like New York flats just appear out of nothing is it?

It was an incredibly expensive flat, or would of been except the one time the landlord had stumbled upstairs asking for the monthly rent he had suddenly found himself in a taxi halfway across the city with no idea of how he got there. But with its bare walls, empty cupboards and luxurious furniture infused with a perpetual smell of pine it felt more like a high price hotel than anything else, there was certainly nothing personal or private about the room. Loki lay down on the medium sized bed and its impersonal black sheets and tried to find sleep. He was probably more aware than others of the unwelcoming nature of the room, it was clinical and clean, something he generally appreciated, but this place never really felt like it belonged to him. Really Loki lived in the Palace of Asgard and, for a short while, a small, thatched cottage in a now long dissolved country in North Western Europe with a few people who had temporarily become his family. Very temporarily as it turned out, living for thousands of years has certain downsides when the people around you would be considered lucky if they made it to forty.

This flat resembled neither of those places and, in Loki's mind, never could. That was probably the reason that he could never cast some of his more powerful protective spells and wards on the place, he never had the necessary feelings of security or protectiveness he needed.

After his first attempt at sleep failed Loki moved on to his contingency plan; to fiddle with the sleek, black Stark phone that Thor had gotten him. It was modern and understated and melded seamlessly into everything else in the flat, especially since it too was never used. It had rested untouched on his bedside table for three weeks now; he never took it anywhere, and no one ever rang. Handing out the ability to contact him at anytime, in anyplace had always rankled to Loki, especially when people like Stark pushed him about it.

Loki then spent several hours engaged in various activities: staring at the ceiling, staring at the wall, trying to clear his head and stop thinking, counting bilgesnipes, banging his head on the wall. Basically everything he had ever learned from Frigga that should help him go to sleep, although the last one was actually something he'd picked up from Thor during their nursery days. Perhaps his brother's stupidity was not entirely due to the influence of Odin's side of the family.

Eventually he relented and turned over to pick up the small cloth bag that hung from the handle of his bedside cabinet. Opening it he cradled its weight in both hands, keeping a firm, steady grip, feeling the weight of the carved bone pieces inside. He concentrated and without looking he deftly poured the bag's contents out onto the blanket in front of him. He opened his eyes slowly, and almost immediately scooped the pieces back into the bag and returned it to its place on the bedside cabinet. He never had been very good at reading runes and it seemed his skills in divination had not improved over time. Either that or the runes themselves were wildly inaccurate.


End file.
